Hashirama
The Artist and The Dreamer
I leaned over the stove, stirring a pot of what I hoped was Spaghetti Sauce while simultaneously keeping my eye on the boiling noodles.
"What does the cook book say next, Itama?"
He was rolling his wheelchair around in circles, a weird habit he had when he was bored, and stopped momentarily to look at the book in his lap.
"Stir the spices in next."
"Are you sure it isn't the meatballs?" I asked.
"No, I'm looking right at it, it's-"
"Ita, look again."
He paused for a moment and then laughed.
"Oh, yeah, you were right it is the meatballs."
I wasn't even the least bit surprised I was right. Cooking was like riding a bike. Actually, it was like sleeping when you've cooked the same crappy dinner like 500 times in a row.
"Spaghetti again?" Tobirama sighed as he came in.
"Shut up." I said, dipping the tips of my fingers in the sauce and flicking them at him.
"Hey, watch it!" He exclaimed, ducking behind Itama. "This shirt is brand new!"
"Yeah, brand-new three years ago when Hisa bought it for me." I replied.
"Whatever, it's retro new." He protested.
It was just a regular dark red t-shirt with the American flag on it. He wore a pair of matching dark red mid-thigh length shorts with it. As he leaned against the refrigerator throwing his a baseball up and catching it in his left hand, which was encased in a glove, something occurred to me.
"Hey, Itama, you wanna put the meatballs in for me?"
"Totally!" he exclaimed, rolling himself near the stove.
I walked over to the light brown telephone sitting on the other side of the counter and racked my head trying to remember Hisa's work number. When I couldn't think of it, I just decided to call the hospital, which I knew she already left from seeing as it was already almost seven thirty pm.
"Hello?"
"Hi, uh, is Hisama Senju there? She's one of the nurses in the Neonatal Care Unit."
"Give me a moment."
I waited, watching as Tobirama helped Itama, who was struggling with reaching far over the counter to get the spices.
"Just let me do it."
"No. I can do it myself!"
Itama was one of those self-help idiots who, even when it was clear as day they needed a hand, would break their necks before asking for help. And Tobirama was a self-serving kid who only helped people in two circumstances, either he was forced to or he just felt that sorry for them. Normally, because of that, they got along fine. But right then, Tobi probably felt really sorry for him.
"She's left already." The man said, coming back on the phone. "But she gave us the number for her second job at the Passion Parlor. I can transfer you."
"Itama give it here!"
I turned away from their argument and nodded even though he couldn't see me.
"Yeah, that'll do." I said. "Thanks."
"NO!"
And suddenly, in the timespan of like two and a half seconds, two things happened. Tobirama's baseball, which he had still been holding as he tried to get bag of meatballs, flew into the air and just magically landed in the damn pot. And the meatballs that Itama was holding somehow all jumped onto the freaking floor.
"Guys, really!?" I exclaimed.
They pointed at each other.
"It was his fault!" Itama said just as Tobirama screamed "He did it!"
Then they looked at each other.
"Did not!" they said in unison.
"H-Hello?" said a voice on the phone.
"Just clean it up!" I said, then I turned back to the phone.
There was loud music playing on the other end.
"Hello? Hello?" the person repeated.
"Yeah, Hisa? It's me." I said.
"Hashirama? Oh my god... Wow... How did you find this number?" She asked.
She seemed to be having trouble hearing me.
"The hospital had it." I replied.
"Hey, honey, are you gonna patch me up or what?" someone asked.
"I'll be right on it, sir." Hisa said, voice suddenly sounding soft and slightly alluring. "My kid's on the phone and-"
The voices suddenly sounded muffled. Probably because Hisa had put her hand over the receiver.
I glanced over seeing Itama carrying the meatballs toward the garbage.
"No, wash them off, Ita! We're not wasting food."
"That's gross!" Itama exclaimed.
"It's already going to taste gross anyway with Tobi's crappy baseball in there!" I said. "Consider it your punishment."
"You sound like such a Mom." Itama moaned.
"I couldn't be your Mom anyway, didn't we tell you that you were adopted?" I asked.
Tobirama snickered. Itama's eyes widened.
"R-Really?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's why your hair is half white like that. It's from when those Martians dropped you off on our roof."
"What Martians?" He asked tentatively.
"The Martians that created you. And when your hair turns fully white, they're gonna come take you back to your home planet." I told him with a completely straight face.
Tobirama burst into laughter.
"Stop playing guys!" he exclaimed, then he rubbed his eyes. "I don't wanna be a Martian!"
A loud noise came from the phone.
"Hashirama, what is it? Are you okay? Is it Itama?" she asked, suddenly sounding panicked.
"No, no, don't worry, Hisa." I said to her. "We just spilled some stuff."
"Christ, Ita. Stop crying your eyes out and gimme the meatballs so I can wash them." Tobi muttered.
I turned around, walking a bit further but because the cord to the phone was pretty short I couldn't walk too far.
"I was just calling because I just realized, this new job, you never told us when you'd be home." I reminded her.
"Oh, oh, I didn't? I'd say around... Eleven pm at the earliest." She said.
The music wasn't so loud anymore so it sounded like she'd gotten to a closed room.
"Oh." Was all I said as I watched Tobi wash his baseball off and go right back to throwing it from one hand to the next.
"Why? Do you need me home now? Is someone hurt?" she asked, going into hysterics again.
"No, it's not that, it's just that... Tobirama's Little League tryouts..."
She was silent for a moment.
"Shit!" she abruptly exclaimed, realizing what I'd said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
It's a pretty interesting moment in a kid's life when they hear their parental guardian curse for the first time. It's like hell freaking froze over.
"Oh god, that was today?!" She cried out.
"He mentioned it this morning, Hisa." I reminded her.
"Dammit!" she yelled, then, suddenly realizing who she was talking to, she backtracked. "Uh, don't repeat that, Hashirama."
And then they go right back to being oblivious like a boy who's nearly sixteen years old never heard the word "fuck" in his life.
"I-I don't think I can make it, Hashi." She told me. "And I know how much this meant to Tobi... Oh god..."
I glanced over at them, probably sensing that I was talking to Hisa, Tobirama leaned over the counter.
"Is she on her way?" he asked.
And probably hearing him, Hisa sighed.
"Tell him how sorry I am, okay? I know he'll probably never forgive me, but..."
Seeing the expression on my face, Tobirama lowered his head.
"I knew she would forget." He muttered, balling his fists. "She always forgets."
"I've got it all covered, Hisa." I said, smiling widely. "Don't worry. Everything's fine."
She paused.
"...Really?"
"Yup. I'm getting right on it." I said. "We'll see you when you get home."
"Uhm...okay. Be safe."
"Got it." I said, before I hung up.
Hearing the bounciness in my tone, Tobirama gave me a questioning look.
"What's going on?"
"Put the stew on a simmer, we'll eat it when we get back from your tryouts."
"She's coming?!" he exclaimed.
I looked away from him.
"Not exactly. But that doesn't mean we can't go." I said.
Tobirama, being the only person in my life that could consistently see past my bullshit, grabbed my arm.
"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
"If you think I'm thinking the stadium's close enough to bike ride if we leave now, then yes."
"Mom would never go for that." Tobirama said. "You're breaking rules."
"Okay... Let's just stay home then..." I said, hunching my shoulders.
He pulled my arm again.
"I didn't say we weren't doing it! Let's blow this!" he said, picking his baseball back up.
Itama hadn't said a word the entire time. He looked on at us and nodded.
"Have fun then." He said, looking down at the cook book in his lap. "I'll just watch the food."
I walked over to him, clapping my hands down on his shoulders.
"You think we're going to leave our baby brother in the house alone!?" I asked. "Hisa would kill me!"
"I can't ride a bike." He stated.
"Duh." I said, then I grabbed the cook book up and tapped the wheelchair with it. "But you still have wheels, doncha?"
He gave me a curious look but followed me as I beckoned him on anyway.
"You really think rope is going to hold this?" Tobirama asked as I squatted down in our garage tying Itama's wheelchair.
"What have we got to lose?" I questioned.
"I can think of a good one. My life!" Itama exclaimed.
"I mean what have we got to lose that's important." I replied.
"Hey!" Itama protested as we snickered.
I handed the other rope to Tobirama which he grabbed and tied to the bottom of the seat of his bike, too.
"Alright, so this should work out perfect unless we ride too far apart from each other."
"I think it's a stupid idea but whatever it takes to get to the stadium."
Tobirama's life motto is literally "sacrifice is necessary for baseball". He'd jump off the World Trade Center's if someone told him he'd be the next famous pitcher for it.
I pulled my backpack over my back and Tobirama grabbed his sports bag and we got on our bikes.
"I feel scared." Itama said as we pulled the garage up.
"Think of it as your first roller coaster ride." I suggested.
"But I'm scared of roller coasters, too."
"Geez, Ita. You're such a spaz..." Tobirama muttered.
I pulled the garage down after us and then hopped on my bike.
"Don't go too fast."
I glanced at Tobirama with a mischievous grin spreading over my face. Tobirama gave me a precarious look but didn't protest me. The way I saw it, I was doing my little brother a favor. I mean, every kid deserves to know what it feels like to think they're going to die at least once.
"W-Wait... Guys... What are you doing...?! NO!"
-Like Fifty Years Later When Two Bikes towing a Wheelchair Finally Got to the Stadium-
Tobirama was excited enough to just be walking on the same ground that real, profession baseball players walked on. He tugged his baseball cap further onto his forehead as we stood near the edge of the stadium, near the bleachers and just stared at the baseball diamond not saying anything.
Suddenly, a black haired kid wearing baby blue colored converse sneakers ran up to us and clapped Tobirama on the shoulders.
"This is so rad, Tobi!" he declared. "You coming or are you going to let the snails make the team for you?"
"Hell yeah, I'm coming!" he yelled, beginning to run after him, but then he paused, and looked back at me. "And, uh... Thanks, a lot, Hashi."
And that surprised the hell out of me. Tobirama doesn't thank anyone for anything. Seriously, you could push him out of the way of a truck, getting your legs chopped off in the process and he'd just be like: "Well, I could've done that myself." If he was thanking someone for something, either he lost his mind, or it was really important to him. I pulled his cap down.
"Better hit it out of the park." I said.
"Yeah, Tobi, don't make me regret calling you my big brother." Itama said.
"I already regret calling you my little brother, squirt." Tobirama replied.
But then he punched his shoulder in a playful way before he ran off. I grabbed the handles of Itama's wheelchair and looked up at the royal blue sky. The sun had almost completely set.
"Hashi, do you think I would've been a great ball player?" Itama asked me.
His head fell back and he gazed up at me with those soulful brown eyes of his.
"What do you mean would've?" I asked, giving him one of my best smiles. "One day, we're going to find an awesome doctor for you, Ita. And then you can be whatever you want."
Slowly, he mirrored my smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah!" I told him, as I wheeled him in the first row of the bleachers. "So what's the first thing you're going to do when you can walk?"
"Be a...basketball player!" he declared.
"Slam dunk!" I yelled, pulling his chair back momentarily.
He swung back, laughing, completely forgetting his fears.
"I'm gonna leave you down here, okay?" I said.
He nodded.
"It's okay. I like being front row."
There were a couple parents and siblings in the rows, watching the tryouts, but they were all pretty spread out, allowing me to walk up the silver, metallic seats and sit four rows directly behind Itama.
I pulled my backpack off and zipped it open, reaching in to pull out a bright red binder with rough, blank paper on the inside.
"Now... What am I gonna draw this time?"
I looked down at Itama sitting forward in his wheelchair and lifting his small hands to grip the metal bars in front of him, barricading him from falling off the bleachers.
I liked drawing. But not just drawing anything, I liked drawing really pretty things. Really delicate things. Things I felt like were worth noticing that people often took for granted. Like the anticipation in Tobirama's eyes as he sat down, waiting for the coach of the team to call his name. And the whiteness that spread onto Itama's knuckles as he gripped the bars, exciting to see his big brother going up to bat.
I decided to draw them both in the same picture. The eyes, the hands, a lone baseball on the field. Apart, they could all mean anything... A million things. But together. Together...that was the real picture.
It didn't take too long to finish up the first sketches of it. I glanced around, something I often did to take a quick break and noticed someone I didn't notice before. A smile spread onto my face. Sitting two rows down and diagonal right of me was that kid. That Madara guy. What the heck was he doing there?
He had his feet up on the seats below him and his arms spread out on the chairs next to him with absolutely no respect like the stadium was his home. The stadium lights were closer to me and farther away from him, so he was bathed in darkness, making it not too surprising that I hadn't noticed him before. His head was leaned up on the seat behind him and his face pointed up. Following his gaze, my eyes met the stars and I couldn't help but get that feeling. You know the one. When you're really curious about what someone's thinking. He looked so day dreamy sitting there, like his mind was a million planets away. But as I continued watching him, my mind created his thoughts for him. I remembered him doodling fighter planes in class and making the explosion sounds as they dropped bombs. My hand started moving across the page...
Normally, I drew real life people, real life things. My drawings were abstract, well at least that's what Tobirama said, but they were of things I'd seen. That day and that moment, however, I started to visualize things that weren't there... Parachutes, ladders, dense forests, tropical jungles with thick, moist air and wet, sticky hair and bugs and fungus... All of these things, suddenly, surrounded me. In my head, of course. And so, I drew it all. Every single bit of it, with one thing, one single real life thing in the middle of it. That Madara boy. But I drew him first. So, when I was drawing the rest of it, I didn't really have to look at him. And so, of course, I couldn't have noticed when-
"Hey."
I froze and looked up.
"You're...uhm..." He scratched his hair, a sign of being completely stumped.
I raised my head, trying not to make any sudden movements.
"Hashirama." I said.
He nodded.
"Oh, right, right, Hashirama." Then he cocked his head as he took a closer look at what I was drawing. "That's..."
He looked back up at me, expression indecipherable.
"Is that...me?"
It was one of those life moments when you're caught by the worst possible person doing the weirdest and most random thing. And then you start backtracking, wondering how the hell it happened. Like first off, was the guy a ninja or something? How the heck did he walk all the way over here without me hearing a single creak?
"Uh..." I stammered. "I-I..."
He reached over and grabbed my binder out of my hands and plopped down on the bench next to me.
"You did draw me." he said, then he squinted. "But I don't get it... What's up with the helicopter and the jungle?"
In the picture, I had Madara sitting where he was before, looking up at the stars with his head tilted back but instead of there being nothing, I drew a helicopter whirling over him some guys about to throw a rope ladder down to him. Off in the distance, there were other helicopters, dozens, with ladders with soldiers climbing up them. He was surrounded by tall, dark palm trees with coconuts and bananas and butterflies and spider webs. Really random stuff while instead of bleachers, he was sitting on a dirt mound with a machine gun stuck into it and had his feet up on an army helmet. Instead of the windbreaker shorts he was wearing and t-shirt, I drew him with a soldier's uniform on, dark green shirt with a matching camouflage jacket, pants, and dark brown combat boots. The only realistic thing in the picture was him.
I shrugged.
"I don't know..." I said.
But the more I looked at the picture, the more I remembered what I was really thinking as I watched him.
"You looked like you were waiting for something."
I could sense him staring at me. I didn't want to confuse him so I kept talking.
"But not just anything. Something vital. Like...something you really, really needed." I shrugged. "I guess I could've seen it as you just been bored of the baseball tryouts or something. But...the look on your face..."
I looked up at him and we locked eyes.
"I just thought that maybe... What you needed was an escape." I pointed at the helicopter. "So, I gave you a way out."
He stared at me for a moment and then, looked back down at the drawing.
"This really looks like 'Nam." He reported.
"I've seen enough of the news to know what it looks like." I shrugged.
"It also really looks like me."
"Yeah, well, simple guys aren't that hard to draw." I said, leaning back.
He gave me a look and then smirked, flipping the pages. The other pages in my book were of nothing but nature. Individual tree leaves waving in the wind. Monarch butterflies resting on the branches above sandy beaches. Lizards finding their way up tree trunks.
"I see you're the outdoorsy type."
I shrugged.
"I really like trees." I told him. "Actually, I wasn't always an artist. I used to do woodshop before."
"Woodshop?" He repeated.
I nodded. "Yup, I was the best in my class. Making rocking chairs and wooden clocks and sculptures and stuff."
"Well... Why did you switch?" He asked, taking a moment to glance up at me.
"Even though I liked wood, it's really rigid, you know?"
"You don't say?" He replied sarcastically.
I laughed. "Yeah, I mean... There's only so much you can do. But with paper and pencils... You can honestly go anywhere."
He paused at the drawing I had started before I began drawing him.
"And what's this supposed to be? A baseball...and a kid's eyes...and some hands?" he asked. "And I was just about to call you a decent artist, too..."
I frowned.
"I guess I'm not so good afterall..."
He was silent for a moment.
"Are you... Are you really sad? I was mainly kidding."
I raised my head up, grinning at him.
"Psyche!" I declared. "And anyway, maybe if you had any artistic eye at all, you could see for yourself what it is!"
Confused and most likely offended he crossed his arms and sighed loudly.
"Whatever, art's about communication. Like writing and music. If I can't understand what it means, it's pointless."
"You didn't understand what the first one meant, and still, that one wasn't pointless to you."
He paused, considering it.
"Besides." I went on. "All of art, drawing and music and everything, isn't about the producer, it's about the receiver. What does it mean to you?"
He looked at it for a while.
"That you need to get a new hobby." He replied.
I rolled my eyes and leaned toward him.
"I like drawing things people don't notice." I told him. "It's the little things that make up a picture. So I drew my brothers. But just a bit of them. When Tobirama was about to go up to bat, that was what his eyes looked like, and when my other little brother, Itama, was watching him, he was excited so his hands looked like that. And the baseball... That's what connects them."
He nodded. At such close proximity to him, I could feel his hair brushing up against mine. Strangely, the tops of my ears felt like they were turning red because of the sensation. But before I questioned it, he prodded me.
"That weird haired kid in the wheelchair? That's your brother?" he inquired.
"Yup, that's him." I said.
We both looked down at Itama who, because Tobirama got his first strike, was slamming his fists down.
"Come on, dude! You could've socked that!" He yelled.
"I can see the family resemblance."
I laughed. "Whatever!"
"So, what happened to him?" Madara asked, handing me my binder back. "Broke both of his legs skateboarding or something?"
I laughed.
"I wish. If that were the case, then someone would know how to help him." I said.
My smile slowly faded.
"You've heard of the Manhattan Project, right? At Trinity?"
He gave me an odd look and then nodded.
"First nuclear bomb testing site... Actually, I'm more surprised you've heard of it."
"That one bomb wasn't the end of it."
"I know that, too." He replied.
"My Mom and Dad used to live around the areas that they used to create new bombs at." I told him. "The bomb factories used to pretend they were clothing factories and hide all of their chemicals and stuff in the plant up the river. Then there was a leak... And all the water and soil and everything around the place got poisoned."
I folded my binder over, closing it against a chilly wind that came through.
"Everyone around there was probably infected with a crap load of radioactive waste. Like a millimeter a day or something? Just one or two or even twelve times, that's not too bad, but over a childhood, it starts adding up." I said. "My Mom got cancer when I was just born and died before I could even remember. And my Dad thought he was going to get it, too, but all that time, he didn't. When he married my stepmother, Hisa, and had my brothers over there, we thought everything would be fine. But it turns out, it wasn't too great after all."
The black haired kid with blue converse that Tobirama was talking to went up to bat, Madara's eyes traveled down to him momentarily.
"He got born with tumors on his spinal cord." I told him.
Madara's eyes snapped back to mine.
"The doctors said he wouldn't even live to be ten years old." I smiled. "But he's eleven now...so much for doctors who know what the heck they're talking about."
"But there's no cure for that?"
"There is." I told him. "But he's on a waiting list. We're not that well off. We can't even afford first class mail, so, medical insurance is like a freaking foreign language to us."
As I said that, I was reminded of the thing I knew that I never told my younger brothers. Hisa was aware of it, too. That if we didn't hurry up and get Itama off the list and into a hospital bed, he probably wouldn't live to be an adult. Then again, sometimes, with the way Itama talked about his life in past tense... I felt like he knew his body better than any of us.
"Both of your parent's don't work?" he asked.
"My mom works..."
She works way more than she should.
"And my Dad's not around." I said, scratching my hair. "He was K.I.A around...three years ago."
Madara's eyes traveled down to my notebook.
"Sorry about that."
I shrugged.
"'Nam's hell." I replied.
"War is hell." He responded. "Seems like...your life was pretty messed up by it."
"I'll say."
"My...brother's over there right now. My older brother."
"Really?" I asked. "What's his name?"
"Tsubasa." He replied. "But I doubt you've heard of him in the hero reports. He's such a pansy..."
I laughed.
"That's a crappy thing to say about your brother."
He rolled his eyes.
"Honestly, he's the last person that should be in a war-zone. The guy was going to throw his freaking draft card over the white house fence and hightail it to Canada if my Mom didn't stop him."
"Hey, man, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you." I reminded him.
He smiled. It was a weird thing, seeing that guy finally genuinely smile. I hadn't realized it, but ever since I'd met him, I'd been shooting for that. Something real. Something rare. Something that would've been taken for granted, had I not been waiting for it.
I opened my binder again and started sketching, this time, not adding anything that wasn't around me. My masterpiece was right in front of me. I picture his smile in my head again and started sketching his lips first, the elongation of it, where it pulled and relaxed.
He wasn't looking toward me. His eyes were on the field again, watching that dark haired kid bat like a freaking prodigy samurai. It wasn't until then that I realized that boy was probably who he was here for.
Slowly, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Can I ask you a question?" he wanted to know.
"It's not like if I say no, that'll stop you." I replied, snickering.
He ignored me, continuing to speak like I assumed he would.
"If you could think of any way to stop evil in the world, how would you do it?"
I paused on what I was drawing. It was like I was taking a test or something. I wanted to ask if I was going to be graded on my answer. But looking at the curiosity of his facial expression, I easily slipped back into my usual attitude.
"Systematically." I said. "Start with schools, try to indoctrinate as much as the younger generation as possible into a 'pure' way of thinking. And probably cut it out of television, like all the crime and war and pain and everything, only show kind, caring people. Only talk like there's kind and caring people in the world."
"So pump them full of idealism?" he asked.
I slowly looked up at him.
"I guess you could put it that way."
"What about actually attacking the evil outright?" he asked me. "What if you were to search out and destroy all the evil people around? Completely remove them from society?"
I tapped the eraser end of my pencil on my paper.
"That sounds like a black ops military mission." I said, smirking. "And here I thought you were sick of war."
"Kill it before it breeds." He said, shrugging. "That's life."
"No, that's chaotic." I clarified. "Unless you're Superman that is."
"A real life Superman would be really helpful in this circumstance."
I grinned at him.
"So, now you're waiting around for superheroes? And you didn't really seem like the comic book type to me either..."
"Shut-up." He retorted. "The point is... Starting with kids and tampering with the media seems alright in theory, but in practice, you'll end up like the Soviets and no one will be free."
"It's not like Nixon tells us the truth either. You just have the right people in charge." I protested.
He paused for a moment, and then nodded.
"Okay, say you have the right people in charge, right? People that actually do this without any selfish thoughts, even though that's impossible. You won't be creating a world of saints. You'll be creating a world of idiots. People who will never have seen an evil deed in their life. What if, somehow, evil breaks out again. They won't even know how to deal with it. It'll be a colossal culture shock."
I paused on moving up to draw his eyes and thought about what he was saying.
"I get it." I nodded. "This isn't just about war, is it? Because right now, you're sounding a hell of a lot like Malcolm X."
He smirked.
"In reference to what? Your Martin Luther King preaching?" He replied. "All he's done anyway is set the stage up for a million kids in forty or fifty years who will think racism never existed and it was all a fairy tale. I'm telling you, dude, huge culture shock. At least if Malcolm X was the guy everyone loves and remembers, racists wouldn't even exist."
"Yeah, because they'd all be dead and buried." I pointed out laughing. "And besides, wouldn't you be on the bad end of that logic?"
I began tracing the outline of his hair. Long, dark and wavy. He always had it parted in an angle that had his right eye almost completely hidden by the locks of hair falling over it. It was almost a bit past shoulder length.
"Eh, maybe." he said, then he shrugged. "I'm only a quarter white, mostly Japanese."
I squinted at him.
"I can kind of see it."
"What about you?" he asked.
"Japanese, Hawaiian mix. I guess we have a bit of something in common." I told him, smiling.
He scoffed.
"Yeah, we'd both be on the same deportation plane out of here during World War 2." He muttered.
Then he stretched and stood up.
"Thanks for answering my question anyway."
For some strange reason, I'd forgotten that we were still basically strangers. It was weird, having such off-the-wall conversations with a guy that you didn't even know yesterday. I stood up, too. I didn't really want it to be over. He was the only kid in my life I could say the word "systematically" to and not be either beat up or ignored.
"Uh... Maybe you want to...hang out tomorrow after school?" I asked him.
He looked over at me.
"I could show you around my side of town." I clarified.
"Sorry but no dice." He said. "I normally have to peel out right after school. I'm pretty busy."
"Oh."
"But maybe when you're finished with that drawing of me, I'll reconsider." He suggested.
I looked down, realizing I was holding my binder wide open exposing the second sketch I was doing of his head and shoulders. Again, I felt flustered. Even though I normally didn't get embarrassed about anything.
He jumped down off the row we were on and walked to the stairs. Everyone else was standing, too. It seemed like the tryouts were over. I slid my binder back into my brown, leather backpack and shrugged it on.
"Hashirama! Hey, down here!"
I hopped down the rows and crossed over to where Itama sat.
"What's up?"
"I think Tobi made it! Did you see that pitch he threw? Everyone's gotta know he's the best pitcher around!"
"Pitch? Oh, uh... I was kind of busy." I said as I grabbed his chair and wheeled him down the stairs.
"It was so totally far out!" Itama exclaimed.
As I pushed Itama up to the back exit of the stadium, Tobirama caught up to us.
"Did you make it?!" Itama asked immediately.
"I'll tell you when we get home!" Tobirama said, breathlessly.
His face was reddish from all the exercise and his white hair looked grayish as it stuck to his forehead.
"For all this bike riding we're doing to get home, you better have made it." I told him.
"Crap. I forgot all about that."
"What are you guys complaining about? That was the best bike ride of my life!" Itama claimed.
We both exchanged glances and an impish grin spread on my face.
"I think it's about time to call the aliens to come back for you." I said, thoughtfully.
"Yeah, they should only be about two light years away, maybe even less..." Tobirama added.
"Guys quit it! I'm not an alien!" Itama cried out as we circled around to the bike racks on the side of the stadium.
"Itama? Itama is that you?" a voice echoed out into the night.
We all froze. Everyone knew that voice.
"Oh no... It's Mom." Tobirama said.
"Hide!" Itama squealed.
But it was too late, a woman with long white hair wearing a pair of really short and really tight turquoise shorts, black heels, and a fluttery white blouse walked up in front of us.
"Oh my god, boys! I was looking everywhere for you!"
She ran over, pulling us all into her arms. But then, in less than like five milliseconds, all that relief and happiness changed to the kind of expression that gets you grounded.
"What the heck were you guys thinking!?" she exclaimed. "I tried to get home as fast as I could and I get there and all is see is the food on the stove and nobody's home."
"We remembered to turn that off, right?" I said, glancing at Tobirama who shrugged.
"No, no, it was off but that's not the point!" she yelled. "Are you crazy? Did you really think it was safe to tie ropes to Itama's wheelchair and pull it with you all the way here?!"
I opened my mouth to try to point out the fact that it had to have been safe or else she would've been yelling at us in the hospital but she went on. You know when Mother's are on a roll, you can never get them to shut the heck up.
"You all could've gotten hit by a car or mugged or kidnapped! I just... I can't even believe this! Just get your bikes and get in the car!"
Tobirama and I sighed and walked over to the bike rack. Behind us, she bent down and threw her arms around Itama.
"Are you okay, baby?"
"I'm okay." He said.
"Are you sure? Are you hungry? Do you feel cold?" she asked as she pulled him out of his wheelchair to carry him.
It wasn't like Hisa played favorites or anything. She really didn't. But whenever it came to Itama, we were like ghosts in that house. And we never really felt bad or neglected about it but sometimes, especially in Tobirama's case, I could see a bit of tension there. I mean if it was Itama's doctor's appointment and not Tobirama's tryouts, she never would have forgotten. True, they were two completely different degrees of importance but still. It's just a bit unnerving.
"I am a little bit hungry." He told her.
And when Itama actually folded into that baby crap, it made it even more annoying. The reason why he was such a crybaby anyway was because of that. I could understand where Hisa was coming from. He wasn't like other kids, he was sick, he needed to be taken care of. But from my perspective, I wanted Itama to be able to live a normal life. If he really didn't make it to adulthood, I wanted him to have the best childhood a kid could ever ask for. Hisa wouldn't even allow herself to think of the possibility that he would die, though. I didn't think she would be able to live with herself if he did...if any of us did...
We put our bikes in the back with Itama's wheelchair.
As soon as we were all in the car, she started up again.
"I'm just so disappointed in you all. I mean, I would expect something ridiculous like this from Hashirama, but you, too, Tobi?"
He didn't say anything. I think that was because his exact words earlier were: "I think it's a stupid idea but whatever it takes to get to the stadium."
"You're both grounded." She said. "For two weeks."
See, didn't I say grounding is what usually happens when Mother's get on a roll?
"What?!" Tobirama exclaimed. "But-
"No buts!" she interjected.
Problem is, Tobirama doesn't know the meaning of the phrase "no buts".
"But that's not even fair, Mom!" he went on. "It's your fault all of this happened anyway!"
The car was silent. Leave it to Tobirama to turn a simple lecture into a household powwow.
She sighed, running her hand through her hair.
"Look, I know I'm not there for you guys as much as I should be." She said. "But all the money your father had from going to war is all gone now and even though I don't want to, I have to work."
We knew that, though.
"I don't know if you guys noticed but our little family isn't doing so well."
Itama hiccupped, I looked over to see him rubbing his eyes. Probably more because he was sad that he was getting scolded than because of anything that was being said.
"It's just going to be a lot of sacrifice... I wish I could be there to cook dinner and help you with homework and see your ball games but, I can't. And if I do, then we'll be living on the streets."
From where I sat, next to her in the passengers seat, I could see the tears rimming on her eyes, making her eyeliner run slightly. Her make-up was so heavy it almost looked clown-like.
"I'm sorry." Tobirama said quietly.
It was silent for a while and then she sniffed and shook the tears away.
"I'm sorry, too." She said, then she paused. "So...did you make the team?"
Tobirama was silent for a moment. And then, suddenly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a orange and black "Konoha Killers" baseball t-shirt.
"Heck Yeah!" he exclaimed.
"Yes! I KNEW you made it!" Itama exclaimed.
"Now, let's just see how many strike outs you get before they kick you back off." I joked.
"Whatever!" Tobirama said, pulling the shirt on over his head. "Coach says I'm the best pitcher they've seen in years! We're gonna end up going national 'cause of me!"
I scoffed.
"In your dreams." I said mockingly, but it was all for good fun.
In the backseat, my younger brothers' eyes shined brightly, fawning over the brightly colored shirt and talking about other team members. I couldn't help but smile as I turned to the front and saw Hisa, glancing at them through the rear-view mirror, and sporting a characteristic smile. That "I love my kids" smile. Even though she was busy and couldn't be fifty places at once, that smile still made up for it in a way.
"I'm so proud of you, Tobi." She told him.
Tobirama responded by grinning from ear to ear.
So, you're probably thinking everything was cool beans from then on out, right? Wrong. We were STILL grounded for two weeks... Ugh... Mothers...
Madara
Premonition
"Hey."
I blinked, a beam of bright, yellow sunlight streamed through trees. I wiped the dirt off my black slacks. The long sleeved black buttoned down shirt I wore was slightly stained with water. I looked up, through the canopy of large, luscious green trees above me to see droplets of dew falling off the palm trees over head.
"Hey." The same voice said again.
I turned my head, looking up at the beholder of the voice. He grinned down at me, fingers interlocked on the top of his dark green combat helmet.
Tsubasa?
"Were you riding my motorcycle, kiddo?" he asked me. "I told you if you and Izuna didn't straighten up, I wouldn't take you to the carnival when I get home."
The AK-47 on the holster on his back shook as he laughed, seemingly at nothing, and he shrugged, making the sleeves of his army patterned uniform fall down.
"But what can I say, huh? You always do whatever you want, selfish little brat."
He reached down and ruffled my hair fondly. Then turned, walking off.
"I'm going home, alright, kiddo?"
...Going home? The war... Is it...over?
I blinked after him as he weaved in and out of the thick, dark green jungle vines. A bright whitish yellow sunlight filled the space behind him. I raised my arm to shade my eyes and it wasn't until then that I realized his outfit changed. The war costume had suddenly turned into a full white tuxedo with a white shirt and black bow tie. With the combat helmet off of his head, I could see his short cut, light brown hair framing his face in waves. Just like my other older brother, they'd both inherited my mother's hair. His onyx eyes widened brightly at me.
"I'll see you when you come home." He said, waving.
Come home...? But Tsubasa, I'm already home. You're the one that's...
I leaned forward, grabbing at the moist, brown dirt and struggled to my feet.
I feel... heavy... Why... Why do I feel so heavy...?
I stumbled over to him, taking half of my energy just to raise my arm.
Tsubasa, wait!
I wanted to call out to him but my mouth, even though it kept opening and closing, opening, closing... No sound would come out. I tried to force it. Tried to push it. But there wasn't any way. I couldn't speak. I couldn't run either. I could only stumble along as he walked with his hands on top of his head in that carefree way he always did. I grabbed at the base of the thick jungle trees trying to pull myself closer but then a flock of white doves burst from a nearby shrub and swirled around me. I turned, losing my balance, feeling like there was no ground beneath me and began to fall. I expected to feel the firm earth come up to meet my face but it didn't.
"Madara."
Someone had caught me. Someone had me in their arms. They steadied me and I pulled myself up, coming face to face with...
It's him.
He grinned at me vibrantly, face barely centimeters from mine.
"Don't worry, Madara. I'll keep it forever. I swear." He promised me, all smiles.
"Hashirama..."
What did he mean by that?
"...Hashirama..."
"What?" a voice asked.
I blinked. The dim, yellow overhead lights of the classroom flooded into my view. I rolled my head around, feeling a soreness in my neck, indicating I'd probably been sleeping in that position for a while. As I raised my head, I realized my loose leaf paper was stuck to my face.
"What?" the voice repeated.
I turned to my right to see Hashirama staring at me. The class was empty except for the two of us. He cocked his head, giving me a weird look.
"Huh?" I mumbled.
"You were saying my name." He clarified, then he grinned. "Were you sleeping?"
I pulled the paper off my face and turned my head so he couldn't see me rubbing the crust out of my eyes.
"No." I muttered.
He laughed.
"Yeah, you were! And you were saying my name in your sleep!" He declared.
I wiped my mouth on my jacket sleeve and rolled my eyes.
"You were all like: 'Oh, Hashirama! You're so dreamy!'" he said, roaring with laughter.
"SHUT-UP!" I yelled. "I wasn't even dreaming about you! It was my brother!"
He smirked.
"Yeah, right. Didn't you say your brother's name was Subaru or something?"
"Tsubasa." I corrected him with a scowl.
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and sighing. My eyes surveyed the rest of the room. On the board in front of us were the words: "I Will Not Skip Detention" and instructions to write that sentence on paper 300 times.
It had been almost three weeks since school started and I met that guy, Hashirama. We hadn't really talked again ever since that one time at the Little League tryouts when I caught him drawing a portrait of me.
...That was so creepy.
But because both of our younger brothers made the team, we saw each other at practices often, even though we never really sat near each other. Also, even though I didn't know for sure, I got the feeling he drew me often.
...That would be really creepy.
But because of that one time we skipped detention, somehow, damn Mr. Uzumaki found out about it and forced us to do it again, this time, with those stupid writing instructions. So, suddenly, I was back in his presence again.
"Do you think they have cameras around here?" Hashirama asked.
He was balancing on the two back legs of his chair and had his feet up on the desk.
"Probably. How else would they find out?" I asked him.
But they must be really shitty cameras for it to have taken them almost until October to realize we'd skipped detention on the first friggin' day of school...
He had that bright red binder on his lap and looked over at me as I answered. But even after I finished speaking, he gazed at me for a while, like he was considering something. His pencil tapped against the paper.
"Yeah..." he said, trailing off, seeming to be deep in thought.
He's clearly drawing me again.
He looked back down at his paper and moved his eraser across the page.
And it's so friggin' creepy.
"Who taught you how to draw?" I asked, balling the paper I was copying the sentence on up.
"No one." He replied.
"So, what? You're like a new aged Michelangelo or something?"
"Is that a complement?" He asked as he put his chair back down right, stood up, and walked over to me.
But before I could reply, he outstretched his arm, revealing one of the sheets of blank white paper he drew on.
"Here." Was all he said.
I raised my eyebrows, reaching for the white page and turning it over. Like I suspected, it was a drawing of me, sketched in pencil, but very detailed. Incredibly detailed. It was like he'd studied every pore on my face, every wrinkle, every eyelash, every hair. And even past that, the slope and scale of my features were sketched out to the bone.
This is...unbelievable.
But those things weren't what grabbed me the most. It was my facial expression. In the picture, I was smiling. Or more so like grinning. It was like I was having the time of my life. My eyes were lit up in excitement and my teeth were clearly visible. And even the minute things there, he'd documented and drawn. Strangely, as I looked at it, I felt differently about him. Instead of seeing it as a really, really creepy hobby, I felt a different emotion...
He'd really taken the time to study me like this?
I wasn't sure what that emotion was but it wasn't negative, that was certain.
"You said you'd consider hanging out with me once I finished it." He reminded me.
Christ, this guy is desperate. I was kidding about that...
"...So you kept at it for three whole weeks?"
He smiled.
"Nah. I finished that the same night." He said. "But..."
He shrugged.
"I didn't really know how to get your attention again." He admitted.
That much detail just off of seeing me two times? But if that's the case, then all this time I thought he was drawing me, he must've been drawing something else.
"It's..." I swallowed. "Alright... I guess."
"Just alright?" he inquired.
No... It's perfect.
I rolled my eyes.
"What do you want, a cookie? Yeah, it's alright." I replied, staring him off.
"You're an asshole." He said, but his smile returned, signaling that he wasn't offended.
"Yeah, and you're a friggin' weirdo. What else is new?"
I took the drawing, holding it carefully and slipping it into the front pouch of my leather black backpack.
"Anyway, it's about the time we're supposed to get out of here, right?" I said. "I have shit to take care of."
"Right... That mysterious thing you always have to do every day after school." He said.
I looked over at him, but he wasn't looking at me, he was pushing his binder into his backpack.
Why does he sound kind of...bitter?
I threw the paper ball at him. It sailed through the air and landed on top of his head.
"Need a ride home?" I asked him.
"With your illegal motorcycle riding license? I think I'll pass." He said, smirking slightly.
I crossed my arms.
"Who said it was illegal anyway?!"
"Common sense." He replied, still smirking.
"It's your loss..." I said, sliding my hands into the pockets of my red and white boxing shorts.
I grabbed my leather backpack, slipped my sunglasses on and pressed my hand against the door. As it swung back, a loud noise came from the other side.
"Ow!"
I stumbled back, surprised to see I was walking into Mr. Uzumaki. He rubbed his foot and then looked down at me, eyes narrowing at my "about to blow this off" look.
Shit...
"He was going to the bathroom?" Hashirama offered from his seat where he, like such a fast cockroach, sat back down before he could get caught.
"Come to the office with me, Mr. Uchiha." He said. "Right away. And you, Mr. Senju, you can pack up and head home."
I sighed, crossing my arms as I was led away. I was never really frightened of getting disciplined at school. Then again, I never got into any real trouble. Just petty stuff like being rude to other students, usually girls because they were so damn sensitive and almost always told, or somehow getting caught cursing or yelling or being 'unnecessarily abrasive' during gym class when you're supposed to be abrasive, it's friggin' dodge ball... But never anything on my record. And even all that petty stuff only recently started when I began high school...
That's when I decided I hated the world... That's when I decided I wanted it to change...
But I was blown almost completely speechless when Mr. Uzumaki opened the door to the main office and, instead of the Dean or the Principal or some kind of disciplinary figure, my mother and father were standing there. My friggin' parents.
Is skipping detention really this important?
My mother actually had herself put together for once. She wore a short, bright orange and yellow dress, like the ones she used to wear when I was younger, and had a large orange flower in her long, wavy brown hair, fit with a woven sunhat. She pursed her lips, bright red with lipstick as I walked in, and nodded curtly at me.
My father always looked the same. Ever since I could remember, he'd worn a suit and tie every day. That day, it was a more casual look though. His dark gray slacks were matched with a white shirt, which had the sleeves rolled up, a black tie, which he'd loosened, and a suit jacket, which he had thrown over his shoulder. He didn't look at me at all.
"Your parents are here to pick you up." Mr. Uzumaki said, then he outstretched his hand to my father. "It's quite an honor to meet you, Mr. Uchiha, this town has heard so many great things from you."
My father looked at his hand like it was the most putrid thing on Earth, and nodded at him.
"Your comment is appreciated." He said, before he walked over to me. "Let's go, Madara."
I nodded, sliding my hands into my pockets as we all left the office and walked down the hallway.
"Why did you guys decide to pick me up?" I asked. "I drove the motorcycle here."
My mother crossed her arms.
"Didn't I tell you to stop riding that thing?" she asked.
"No." I muttered. "You never said that."
"I'll drive it home." My father answered. "Get in the car with your Mother."
What the hell is going on?
They stood on either side of me, basically sandwiching me in. I just so happened to glance around the hallway as we got to the exit doors and my eyes locked on one person, probably the last kid in the entire school besides me, putting their things into their locker. He turned and looked at me, raising his eyebrows.
It's Hashirama, again...
"Madara. Come on." My Father ordered.
I turned away from him and walked under my father's arm as he held the door open for me. I had gotten taller since the last time I'd seen him, but it was a mark of how short I still was that I could still walk under his arm. He and my mother both curtly turned different ways as soon as they stepped outside and, like usual, I was looking after both of them, waiting, and then, at the last second, turning and going with my mother.
I got into the passenger's seat of her old Volvo and before I could even close the door, she was already backing up and flooring it across the parking lot.
"Crap, Mom!" I yelled. "Are you trying to kill us?"
She whipped the wheel to the left not even bothering to fully stop for the stop sign and sped out onto the road.
"I guess you're finally finding your Asian roots." I muttered.
"Shut up." She muttered, then she snapped her fingers at me and pointed.
I sighed, picking the cigarette carton up off of the dash and handing it to her.
"That bastard father of yours..." she muttered.
That's like her favorite sentence anytime he comes around. It's always 'bastard father' this and 'bastard father' that... I'm always waiting for the day she looks in the mirror and says 'bitch mother'.
"Why is he here?" I asked.
She lit the cigarette and said nothing. I didn't even really expect her to. I rolled the window down and turned my head outside, enjoying the feeling of the wind lifting my hair off of my forehead.
The car was completely silent until we began to drive a bit slower past an abandoned parking lot the surrounding neighborhood kids normally played pick-up games of dodge ball, baseball and soccer in. As I suspected, there were around thirty or so kids there of all ages, with their backpacks scattered around, leaning up against posts or a fence in the distance, and their jackets tied around their waists, using piles of sneakers as makeshift baseball diamonds. My mother honked the horn loudly and then leaned over me to push her head out of the window.
"IZUNA!" she exclaimed. "GET YOUR ASS IN THIS CAR!"
One of the kids, the one wearing a helmet and holding a bat, got out of his batting stance and shielded his eyes against the sun. Seeming to mutter something depressing, he slowly found his shoes among the other kids, picked his backpack and skateboard up and rolled over to us.
The sun beamed off of his burnt red, overall bellbottoms as he skated up carrying the characteristically care-free expression of a twelve year old.
"I thought you didn't have a license, Mom." He said, staring at her in the driver's seat.
"Get in the damn car." She said, tapping the cigarette litter out of the car.
"You're going to jail." He told her, before he got into the backseat.
"Explain, Mother." I tried again as we pulled off. "Why are you picking us up? And what the hell is Dad doing back?"
"Dad's back!?" Izuna exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair.
"Yeah." I told him. "They both picked me up from school. Even though it makes no sense that either of you even knew I was there, Mother of the Year..."
"Oh, whatever, Madara." My mother said, turning to me with exasperation. "The school calls the house when you have detention. And Izuna plays baseball with the same damn kids after school every day. I know where my goddamn kids are, alright? So stop all of your shitty prepubescent 'woe is me' bullshit!"
A screech of silence whipped through the car. Izuna still sat forward, most likely confused as whether to pursue his question or leave it.
"If I wasn't in detention you wouldn't know where I was." I muttered.
I saw her hands tighten around the steering wheel.
"Madara shut your fucking mouth. You're pissing me off." She grumbled.
"Just admit it." I retorted. "You probably answered that phone call on accident when you were strung out on booze and shit in the living room..."
"Wait! Is it Tsubasa?!" Izuna suddenly asked.
His voice had cracked and gone high pitched momentarily because of his excitement.
"That's it, isn't it? It's a big surprise! Tsubasa came home!" Izuna exclaimed, then he pumped his fists. "That's the only reason Dad would come back! Yes!"
Wait, Tsubasa...?
I turned to her. I saw the expression on her face. The way she flicked her hair out of her eyes with unnecessary force while Izuna was talking. The way she blinked rapidly and bit her lip.
Dad wouldn't come home because Tsubasa came back... How would Dad even know Tsubasa came back... Unless...
Izuna was still grinning.
"I can wait to tell him that I got on the Little Leauge Team just like he used to be! And that I'm a batter, too!"
"Now, I get it..." I muttered.
My mother looked over at me. Her eyes narrowed. We both knew what each other knew. And that was enough.
"So what? You think now you can actually be a Mother that's worth shit? After all this time? Just out of necessity?" I asked her. "We're all going to die if we stay under the roof of this house with you. You're going to kill all of us."
I snatched the cigarette from her hand and tossed it out of the window.
"Madara will you grow the fuck up!?" she hollered at me, finally turning to look at me. "Everything isn't all black and fucking white!"
"You think I don't know that?! I figured that out first hand when you decided you'd rather drink yourself into an early grave than be caught dead being a mother like how you're supposed to!"
"WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!?" She yelled at me. "Did you want me to watch my son run off to Canada and end up going to jail?!"
"At least if Tsubasa was in jail, he'd be ALIVE, you friggin' bitch!" I shouted at her.
There was a split second where I wasn't sure what would happen next. Everything in the car seemed to freeze. Then she turned to me, tears rimming her eyes and the back of her hand caught swiftly across my face.
"Shut up!" she shouted. "Shut your fucking mouth!"
She hit me again.
"You ungrateful little piece of shit! I do everything for you! I put food on the table, clothes on your back!"
"You don't do shit!" I yelled, smacking her hand away. "Except collect the money Dad's grateful enough to still send over to your pitiful ass!"
"And you always put your bastard father on this high fucking pedestal!" she continued slapping at me, the car swerved. "Where the hell was he when Tsubasa was leaving?! Where the hell was he when you had your stupid elementary school graduations or your stupid doctor's appointments!? Huh?!"
"Mom, stop it!" Izuna yelled from the backseat.
Her words began to hinge into the hysteria of sobbing as she hit me, slaps turning raw as her hands balled into fists.
"Where the hell was he when Taiga and Itsuya died!? I busted my ass for you guys! And you respect the son of a bitch that LEFT?! That didn't even have the balls to fucking tough it out like a MAN!?"
"Mom, stop hitting him! You're hurting him!" Izuna shouted, a growing bit of bass edging into his voice.
She shoved me, letting me go. The cars around us were honking and swerving the entire time in an attempt to avoid the collision she was bent on creating. But somehow, we survived.
I could feel the fingernail marks on my face and arms. The skin around them swelling and bruising.
The car came to a stoplight and, strangely, she actually stopped for it. I could hear Izuna sniffling in the backseat. I felt a twinge of guilt that he'd seen what he just did.
"Guys... What did you mean by 'at least he would be alive'?" Izuna asked tentatively.
His voice was solid but the shakiness of it gave away the tears most likely sliding down his cheeks.
This is too much...
My mother leaned up on the steering wheel. A tear fell into her match, destroying the next attempt she was trying to make at lighting a cigarette.
"...Madara?" Izuna asked.
I can't take this...
I pulled the handle of the car door and forced the door open. Without even looking back, I slammed the door and ran off, not even really sure what part of town I was in or what direction I was going, though, there was only really one place I ever went when I was depressed. It had become a habit after the first of my siblings died.
I can't take it anymore.
Up Next: Well...damn. Poor Madara. But never fear, next time, Hashirama's coming to the rescue! But... Will their next encounter lead to something MORE? Hmmm... I hope you're tingling with as much excitement as they will be!